


The Spell Muggles Call Love

by RandomW07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week, Aurors, Day six is a bit angsty, Mentions of homophobia, Mentions of the Black Death, More inspired by if I'm being honest, Multi, Pottertalia, Underage Drinking, brief mention of sex, creative liberties taken with the prompts, not sure whether fluff or cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 19:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19091902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomW07/pseuds/RandomW07
Summary: Loosely based on the APH Rare Pair Week 2019.Day1: NorBela. With the summer holidays beginning, Eirik could finally see his girlfriend again. Showing off what they'd learnt that year was just habit by this point.Day 2: NorHun. Erzsébet hadn't expected to be lost in Oslo. Luckily there's always one kind person to give her directions.Day 3: NorFin. On their last night at Hogwarts, Eirik and Timo sneak out to watch the stars.Day 4: EngNor. A simple question leads to a discussion about the Black Death and other historical events.Day 5: SweNor. Berwald doesn't dislike Eirik's ideas, he just wonders whether they'll make it out alive.Day 6: RomNor. When Vasile shows up at his door, a bouquet of flowers in hand, Eirik knows the flowers aren't meant to be a display of affection.Day 7: NedNor. A summer stroll brings back fond memories for two young men in love.





	1. Day 1: Magic (NorBela)

**Author's Note:**

> So, only just learnt about the APH Rare Pair Challenge 2019. I'm putting this as inspired by mostly because I've taken some creative liberties with the prompts and days posting (because I'm late to the party, as always). All stories are set in the Harry Potter universe.  
> I'll add pairings as they appear, each day will focus on a different ship (although I'm focusing on Norway ships). 
> 
> Day 1: Magic  
> Pairing: Norway x Belarus

The airport was packed. Muggles scurried to and fro, gathering in tightly packed circles, some waving cardboard signs or sheets of paper, others watching silently. Eirik belonged to the latter category, trying to steel his nerves.

Natalya would be fine. She'd flown before, why should this flight be any different to the last one? He'd have preferred if she could simply apparate at his countryside home, but she'd only just obtained her apparition licence. Their respective parents had forbidden the journey, deeming it too far for one with so little experience.

Eirik's parents had convinced her to fly into Stansted, suggesting the two spend the day in London then take a train back and apparate from near the station. And so Eirik was trying to catch a glimpse of her among the crowd flowing through the busy place.

He eventually spotted her looking around, small suitcase in one hand, a rucksack over her shoulders. He waved her over.

"Hey."

"Hey."

She had grown over the school year, still a good deal shorter than him, but more of an average height now. Her long blond hair had grown even more since the last time he'd seen her, falling down to the middle of her back. She didn't smile, Natalya rarely did, but her eyes betrayed her happiness. She was stunning.

"You look well," he said.

She rolled her eyes, silently mocking his way with words. Then, she lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and pecked him on the lips.

"Good to see you too."

Natalya was slowly getting used to muggle customs. She no longer fiddled with her Oyster card, nor did she take hours counting her money. She even dressed somewhat properly, wearing a pretty purple dress that ended just above her knees. The two held hands as they walked through the city, visiting the museums full of historical artefacts, the odd magical object among them, eating at one of the quieter parks, buying a few things to bring back to their parents and siblings. Not a word about magic was uttered by either one of them. Not here where the Muggles could hear. Later, they would. When they were somewhere quiet and secluded.

Eirik dozed on the train, resting his head on Natalya's shoulder, which wasn't as comfortable as he had hoped. The two had been together for a year now, since the holidays following their fifth year at Hogwarts or Durmstrang. They'd met thanks to their parents, and, although they went to different schools, they had grown close over the years. When summer holidays rolled around, they would spend a month at the other's home, surprisingly never growing tired of each other's presence, knowing each other's limits and needs for peace and quiet.

"Do we have to go back straight away?" Natalya asked once they reached the gritty train station not far away from Eirik's home.

"Where were you planning on going?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I wanted to show you something."

They make their way to a clearing nestled away in a forest not far from his home, where Eirik's been practising his magic since he turned seventeen, and where he had spent countless hours reading or doing his homework since he was eleven.

Only then did Natalya withdraw her wand safely tucked away in her rucksack, and waved it in the air. She uttered no words as she did so, which impressed Eirik. A non-verbal spell?

A leaf floated down from a nearby tree, folding and unfolding as it twirled downwards. It crinkled, growing wings, a thick head, sharp claws, a slender body, a long neck. The miniature dragon let out a tiny shriek, flapping its wings as he swooped around Eirik's head. He cupped his hands, holding them out, and the leaf-dragon landed on his outstretched palms, its tail swishing from side to side.

"It's brilliant," he murmured.

Natalya nodded, pleased. She waved her wand and the dragon turned back to a leaf and floated to the ground.

"We learnt it in Transfiguration. Our project was to turn a vegetative material into a fully-functioning animal. Obviously the animal we created wasn't sentient, but it was cool."

Eirik took out his own wand and tapped the ground beneath his feet, muttering a few words. The ground rumbled, and grew upwards, a mountain of a man emerging from the depths of the Earth. He focused on making its head, long, serious, lower jaw protruding outwards, then its muscular body, large feet. Once the troll was formed, he cast the second part to his spell, and the ground melted off the troll, leaving shimmering water in its wake. The light danced on the water surface, so he directed it to the creature's eyes, then its hair, its fangs. He tapped the water once and it froze, a two metre high ice sculpture standing where there was dirt only a few minutes ago.

"Alchemy?" Natalya stared.

"Charms to make the troll, alchemy to turn it to ice."

"Lucky Hogwarts students, with your alchemy lessons," she muttered.

"I think your dragon was pretty impressive," Eirik shrugged.

He tapped the structure, slowly reversing the spells he had cast. Once the clearing was back to normal, he conjured a ball of light and lifted it.

"Magic tennis match?"

The game had quickly become a favourite for wizards old enough to cast magic outside of school, and for N.E.W.T level students at Hogwarts, being a brilliant way to study while having fun. The rules were simple: the players drew a line across the ground separating both sides of the court, then had to send a conjured or transfigurated object to the other player and have it touch the ground. Gusts of wind, turning the object into another, anything was allowed, as long as the object never hit the floor.

Natalya ended up winning, thanks to her dragon trick which avoided Eirik's attempt to set it aflame and landed on the floor with a pleased expression on its face.

"Ready to head back?" he asked her.

"Let me savour my victory a bit more," she teased.

He rolled his eyes, breathing in the countryside air, settling himself down on the grass. Natalya really was stunning. And talented. And so many things the world would end before he had time to list them all.

"What?" she laughed.

"Nothing."

But he couldn't keep the smile from his face. This here was the most beautiful, witty, talented, sweet woman in the world, and she had chosen him as the person she wanted in her life. And she would be spending an entire month with him. A month to relax, practice magic together, go on long walks, sleep in the same bed, bask in each other's company.

"Love you, Nat."

Their lips met, lingered, drew back, then meet again once more. Her body fit perfectly next to his own, her hail tickled his neck, he could smell her flowery perfume, feel her soft skin, melt into her touch just as she melted into his. Surely in a world full of magic, there was nothing more magical than spending time with the one you loved.

But eventually they had to part, and they sat there, so close he could feel her breath on his face.

"Love you too, Eirik."

And their lips met again as they succumbed to the spell muggles called love.


	2. Day 2: Language (NorHun)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2: NorHun. Erzsébet hadn't planned on getting lost in Oslo. Luckily for her there's always someone helpful who can give her directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was pretty difficult, and I ended cutting out a big part because I ran out of time. But hey, the world needs more Norway X Hungary! 
> 
> Names:  
> Erzsébet Héderváry: Hungary   
> Eirik Thomassen: Norway

Erzsébet is lost. She's been lost for the past ten minutes, probably even longer, ever since she arrived in this god-forsaken city. She blames the vague address her superiors had given her. No street name, no number, no idea whatsoever where it may be, save for the useless assurance that she'd know when she saw it. Well, so far, she hasn't seen anything even slightly resembling a possible entrance to the wizarding world of Oslo.

In an ideal world, she would have apparated directly in Oslo, or taken the Flu network. But the Flu network doesn't extend to Norway, and international wizarding laws made apparition unwise, so she had been forced to travail by portkey, finding herself in some secluded forest, far away from her original destination. Foul play, she suspects. Whoever tampered with the portkey will regret it once she learns their name.

Of course, the Norwegians could have sent an Auror to meet her directly once she arrived in Oslo, but they've been reluctant to discuss anything with her. They're upset the Hungarian Ministry of Magic has become involved in this case, but what were they expecting? Their inability to contain a dark wizard had resulted in the theft of a precious Hungarian artefact on loan to the Oslo Museum of Magical objects, therefore Erzsébet had been tasked to go to Oslo and locate it, somehow.

Another corner passed, another street entered, and still no sign of what she's looking for. Frustration floods her, gives her the urge to tear her hair out, or at the very least, scream to let off some steam. Perhaps she should contact her superiors. Except she can't do that because of the number of muggles around. Unless she finds a quiet alleyway, she can throw that option out of the window.

She can't ask the locals for directions either, as firstly, they're muggles, and secondly, she doesn't speak a word of Norwegian. Her English is decent, at least, not that that will help her right now. Unless she somehow finds a Norwegian witch or wizard, which isn't as easy as it sounds. The muggles are growing more eccentric with easy passing day, making it even more difficult to identify a wizard posing as a muggle as it had been.

She isn't sure when she starts to feel eyes on her, but she's halfway down the street when she whips her head around, trying to locate whoever's staring at her. She quickly spots the man in question, a tall fellow with a thin frame and blond hair. He stands on the other side of the street, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and when he notices her gaze, he doesn't look away. Sighing, wanting to give this creep a piece of her mind, she crosses the distance between them in five steps.

"Can I help you?" Erzsébet snaps in English, in no mood for pleasantries.

"I'm not sure. Your thoughts are in a foreign language," he replies calmly.

The irritation sizzles out in an instant. Thoughts? Erzsébet's eyes narrow. A Legilimens? How can she be certain?

"You're Hungarian?" he asks her.

She nods, which spurs a tentative smile to cross his face. He holds his hand out.

"Eirik Thomassen. Are you Erzsébet Héderváry?"

She carefully analyses his facial features, trying to determine whether she's seen this man somewhere before. He's attractive, with a sharp face, slightly upturned nose, despite his dark blue eyes that seemed lifeless and impassive. She doesn't recognise him from anywhere. Still, for him to know her, then he must be a wizard. But what if he was a dark wizard?

"Your thoughts are very loud, you know," Thomassen frowns, "they make no sense whatsoever."

"You're a Legilimens."

He nods, then gestures back the way she came.

"You're going the wrong way. The toilets are that way."

She almost says she's not looking for the toilets but he shoots her an exasperated stare and the words die on her tongue. She reaches in her pocket for her wand, gripping it tightly.

"Lead the way."

They walk in silence, an unnerving stretch of quiet Erzsébet hates. It makes them stand out, something she can't afford right now. The wizard seems to be thinking the same thing, judging from how he keeps on glancing back at her, opening his mouth, then closing it again.

"Did someone send you?" she asks.

"You did. Your distress was very loud."

She wonders whether to take offense at his statement or not, although judging from his constant glances at her, she guesses he's uneasy, and simply saying what he thinks. If he is a Legilimens, then he must be used to understanding those around him without even needing to speak to them. Her thoughts are in Hungarian, from the sound of it, a language not even close to Norwegian or English.

They exchange small talk on their walk, and she learns where he comes from, how he's only visiting Oslo but lives up in Bergen, how he's the elder sibling and has a little brother who's currently studying at Durmstrang. She tells him basic things about herself, not quite trusting him, nor willing to count him as a threat. However, as they wander along, she finds her mistrust evaporating.

He's pretty cute, all things considering.

She's glad he can't pick up on her thoughts, wondering whether it would be considered unprofessional of her to ask him out for drinks when she's working on a case.

Eirik brings up the subject of languages, asking her whether Hugarian is as complicated as it sounds. She laughs, teaches him a few words and simple sentences, which he pronounces better than would be expected of someone speaking the language for the first time. She suspects it's because he can hear the words in his mind and out loud. In return, he teaches her those same words, those same sentences, in Norwegian. He tells her about dialects, about how his own dialect differs from the one spoken here in Oslo, shows her a few differences between the two. She mentions Hungarian dialects, where they're stronger, how it's mostly the elderly who speak them, or those in certain regions.

It's refreshing, to chat freely with someone like this. She decides that asking him out for drinks sounds like a good idea.

They eventually reach a downtrodden street, where a toilet block is nestled away at the junction between two streets. It reeks of drains and other things she would rather not think about, its walls and floor tiles cracked and its colours fading to a greyish-yellow.

"Charming."

"I've seen worse," he shrugs, "go straight on, you'll get there in no time."

She thanks him for his help, to which he responds with a slow nod. Before she can ask him whether he wants to meet up with her at some point, he calls out to her.

"Would you like to meet for coffee some time?"

He sounds nervous, as though he's unsure whether she's interested or not. His face remains blank, however, and he stands just as still as he had when she first spotted him.

She allows a small smile to light her face, wondering whether he would act so nervous if he could read her thoughts like he did with everyone else. In a way, she's grateful he doesn't speak Hungarian - she suspects this honest, slightly awkward attitude is something new for him.

"I would love to. Shall I meet you here tomorrow?"

A few weeks later, she leaves Oslo with a dark wizard in cuffs, the stolen artefact retrieved and returned, and a proper address she sends letters to weekly. Not yet a boyfriend, but maybe someday, if things go well. She almost forgets to give an earful to the idiot who tampered with her portkey - apparently she's too paranoid to notice that some people are simply incompetent, but remembers at the last minute, informing him the only reason she's giving him a second chance is because it's thanks to the defective portkey she met Eirik and he should be grateful for it.

All in all, another successive case closed.


	3. Day 3: Night Sky (NorFin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Norway x Finland. On their last night at Hogwarts, Eirik and Timo sneak out to watch the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some underage drinking in this one (Finland's seventeen and the legal drinking age in the UK is 18, and since Hogwarts isn't a licensed premise for alcohol consumption, cider counts) because having boarded for three years, I find it hard to believe no one has ever smuggled alcohol into Hogwarts on the last day/night of school. 
> 
> New names:  
> \- Louise Dubois: Monaco (Ravenclaw)  
> \- Timo Väinämöinen: Finland (Hufflepuff)

Eirik leaves the common room the second a seventh year pulls out a bottle of liquor. As head boy, he should confiscate the forbidden beverage, but he can't be bothered to face the wrath of a good twenty tipsy students. Besides, he dealt with them last festivities; it's Dubois' turn this time.

"Ditching your responsibilities to sneak out, Thomassen? I'm disappointed," Louise Dubois intercepts him as he reaches the entrance.

"I dealt with them last time."

"So this has nothing to do with your boyfriend?" she teases, seemingly unbothered by her task.

"Cover for me?"

"You got it. And I'll keep the under-eighteens off the alcohol, if I can. I charmed some non-alcoholic beers to look like the alcoholic kind. Fingers crossed!"

Ravenclaw Tower isn't the ideal place for sneaking out. The staircase is narrow, leaving little place to hide from patrolling teachers. Fortunately, on the last night of the school year, the staff usually leaves them alone. Still, Eirik feels vulnerable as he tiptoes down the stairs and through the empty corridors.

By some miracle, he encounters no one during his short walk, finally reaching the Astronomy Tower, where he's sat shivering from the cold for seven years, trying to see the stars through the clouds, without anyone spotting him.

Timo's already there, sitting in the shadow cast by the moon against the wall. He stands up when he spots Eirik, waving him over and giving him a quick kiss in greeting.

"Dubois didn't give you any trouble?" he asks.

"She was fine with it. Are you sure no one will check anyone's here?"

It may be their last night, but Eirik doesn't put it past Snape to somehow ruin their evening if he catches them. Timo huffs, that exasperated sound people make when someone's asked the same question one too many times.

"Don't worry about it. We'll be fine. Cider? I wanted to get some vodka, but our heads of house found our hidden stock and banned them. I bet they didn't even hand them in to the teachers," he grumbles.

"Your heads of house are too strict."

"Tell me about it," Timo sighs, pouring two glasses and holding one out for Eirik to take.

The two sip their drinks, chatting all the while. They don't sneak out often - neither can afford to be caught by teachers and have detention stain their reputation - but nights spent together are those Eirik cherishes the most.

"Why the Astronomy Tower?" he asks.

"No reason. I just thought the sky should be really pretty tonight."

He isn't wrong. The sun set hours ago, so now the sky has turned into a black blanket dotted by specks of light. A few satellites flash, changing colour but standing still, an airplane flies above them, which makes Timo wave. "Habit", he says when Eirik looks at him oddly.

One of Eirik's favourite things about the night sky would have to be how it grows more vast the longer he stares at it. At first, although many stars light up the night, there aren't too many - he could probably count them, if he wanted to - but the more he looks, more specks appear. Soon, the stars outnumber the expanse of darkness, so much that Eirik wonders whether there really was that much to begin with.

He points out Jupiter to Timo, not too far away from the moon. They name constellations they learnt in Astronomy, then create their own. Those five stars over there look like a snitch, that group up there remind them of a dragon. They argue amicably about whether ursa major resembles a bear or not, and whether constellations should be called simpler names such as "the saucepan" or "the square that vaguely resembles a pegasus, if you're high and have a big imagination".

"Funny how everything looks small from down here," Timo comments.

Eirik hums, not in the mood for long speeches about how vast the universe is and how tiny humans really are in the eyes of the universe. He leans against his boyfriend, who makes a brilliant cushion, hand intertwining with Timo's.

"We should do this more often."

"There should be some meteor showers this summer, if you're interested?" Eirik glances at him.

"I'll have to convince my mum to let me visit. You know how she gets."

"Have you told her men can't get pregnant?" the Norwegian teases.

"She's convinced I'll get an STD or something. Besides, I think she secretly wants me to have kids somehow. She desperately wants to be a grandmother."

Eirik has only met Mrs Väinämöinen a couple of times, usually at platform nine and three quarters, and he's convinced she hates him, no matter how much the Hufflepuff convinces him she doesn't. Those eyes are far too contemptuous for someone who supposedly likes him.

"Tell her you're only seventeen, you've got plenty of time to have kids still."

Timo frowns at his statement, elbowing him in the side in response.

"Not if you and I stay together. And don't say we can adopt, because we both know that's not what you meant."

"I'm just saying, we're still young. No one expects us to last, why should we?"

"Because we'll last."

Timo leaves no room for arguing, and Eirik drops the issue. He isn't sure why he keeps on bringing it up at this point, perhaps the simple but determined affirmations send butterflies fluttering in his stomach and happiness surging from his chest. He loves Timo, he really does, but even he knows how unlikely it is for couples to last. He prefers to lower his expectations and simply enjoy the time they spend together without worrying about how much time they have left.

"It'd be great if we saw a shooting star, don't you think?" Timo looks back up at the sky.

"Why? So you can make a wish?"

"Exactly!"

"My mum always said we could wish on satellites, when there weren't any shooting stars around. I'm not sure whether it works, but it never stopped us," Eirik shrugs.

Timo laughs, a cute, bright chuckle filled with positive energy. The sound bring a small smile to Eirik's face. He loves that laugh. He's happy he can be the one to bring it forth sometimes.

"Well, it's worth a try!"

Timo shuts his eyes, presses his palms together, his forehead creasing in concentration, his lips narrowing into a thin line. A few minutes pass, enough time for Eirik's eyes to adjust to the infinite dots in the star again.

"What did you wish for?"

Timo grins, pressing a finger to his lips and sings, "Secret."

He then snuggles against Eirik, and goes back to talking about everything and nothing, as he always does, and Eirik is content to to just listen, to hear the cheerful tone of his voice until they both start to shiver from the cold and are forced to return to their respective common rooms, where a warm bed awaits. 


	4. Day 4: History (EngNor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: England x Norway. A simple question leads to a discussion about the Black Death and other historical events. Just another typical afternoon for Arthur and Eirik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another difficult one! I wasn't sure which event to pick, when to set it... I first thought about setting it during the Black Death, but I couldn't find a decent plot that wasn't "Someone's dying". I eventually settled on setting it in "modern day" (the 90s) and having characters discuss the Black Death instead, although a few other events are mentioned in passing (nothing obscure though).

"What are you drawing?"

Eirik glances up. The late autumn sun blinds him, causing him to look away, but he doesn't need to look to identify the speaker. Arthur Kirkland, his boyfriend of two years, seems to have finished his lesson early, and takes a seat on the stone wall of the cloister, next to him. The Gryffindor's hands bear fresh burns, which Eirik suspects to be caused by whatever dangerous creature Hagrid had them handling today. Sometimes he wishes he didn't have to drop Care of Magical Creatures - too many subjects, his teachers had told him - although seeing the state of those who have opted to pursue it, he thinks he made the right decision.

"Pesta," he replies softly, turning back to his sketch.

The lines and shapes are finally starting to resemble an old hag, her face wrinkled, skull-like, covered by a hood. He hasn't decided whether she should carry a broom or a rake yet, but he still has much to do before making up his mind. A village in the background, perhaps a few rats sneaking through the streets... or would a rat be too on the nose? He likes his symbolism - more importantly, it gives way to interesting conversations with Arthur - but he doesn't like it being too, well, generic. A port with black-sailed ships instead?

"Pesta?"

One of the things Eirik loves the most about Arthur is his fascination with Muggle folklore and history. Although dismissive at first, the tales the muggleborn told him quickly captivated him, and the history behind creatures of folklore has become one of their most common things to talk about.

Eirik had been shocked to discover how little wizards knew about Muggle history, even important events such as the world wars are nothing more than footnotes to them. He remembers spending an entire afternoon explaining the world wars in all their complexity, with as much detail he can provide, to his boyfriend when the wizardborn asked him why he attached a poppy to his robes one November. He had sent a letter to his little brother, asking for him to send some books on the subject, along with the non-magical teen's lessons if he no longer needed them.

Arthur is mostly interested in British history, which makes sense, although Eirik does wish he could share more Norwegian history with him. He's told him the basics, of course, independence, the Kalmar Union, the Vikings, the list goes on and on.

"In Norwegian folklore, Pesta is the personification of the Svartedauden, the Black Death. It's said she would visit homes and places infected by the plague, and depending on whether she brought with her a rake or a broom, the people living there would live or die. If she carried the broom, all would die. If she carried the rake, some would survive."

Arthur nods, eyes sparkling with curiosity as he takes another look at the Slytherin's drawing.

"The Black Death? I think I've heard of it... You know the Malfoys? One of their ancestors is rumoured to have murdered people and make it look like they were infected," Arthur muses.

Somehow, the news doesn't surprise Eirik. He's only met one Malfoy, a spoilt brat a few years below him who gives a bad name to Slytherins such as himself, but from the gossip he's heard in the Slytherin common room, the whole bunch are unpleasant people.

"I'm surprised he didn't get sick himself," Eirik says, "then again, maybe wizards don't get the plague."

He collects his thoughts, facts he recalls from his primary school lessons, information Emil might have brought up, documentaries he had seen on TV. As he thinks, his gaze sweeps over the courtyard, noticing how busy it's becoming.

"The Black Death was a plague epidemic that spread throughout Europe in the 1340s. The bacterium Yersinia Pestis infected rats who lived on ships, in close contact with people. Fleas bit the infected rats, and when the rats died, they leapt onto people and bit them, and it spread. At the time, Muggles didn't have the necessary knowledge on how to cure themselves, nor the sanitary measures that could have limited the risk of infections. Mass graves were filled every night. People were terrified." He shakes his head. "I don't know the exact numbers, but a big part of Europe was wiped out."

He goes on to explain the three different types of plague, the symptoms, what remedies people used and in what way they were ineffective. He mentions plague doctors, scribbles a crude drawing of their attire which causes Arthur to shudder. He talks about how it spread in Norway, the effect it had on the livestock, the wool shortage that ensued. He brings up how it vanished in winter, only to come back in full force when warmer weather arrived.

He explains that other plague epidemics occurred throughout the following centuries, where the plague still exists today, how antibiotics are used to cure them - and here he has to explain how antibiotics work to Arthur, hoping he isn't spreading any false information. The Gryffindor listens to everything he says with rapt attention, asking questions frequently, telling him trivia about the wizarding world at that time which makes more sense now they consider Muggle history.

Even discussing such macabre and depressing subjects can be enjoying when in the company of his boyfriend. They move on from the Black Death to Henry the eighth, who Arthur has been reading about recently. They then talk about the Great Fire of London, something Eirik has heard of but Arthur knows a lot about.

Afternoons like these are never boring. Both boys love learning about historical events they have never heard of before, and are usually the only two to pay attention in History of Magic. Occasionally, when Professor Binns droning voice becomes too much to stand, the bring in books borrowed from the library about the current lesson, and teach themselves.

"We've got Charms in fifteen minutes," Arthur checks his watch.

Eirik sighs. He likes Charms - it's one of his best subjects - and he enjoys the class even more now he shares it with his boyfriend, but he'd much rather continue chatting with Arthur than perform whatever spell Flitwick had planned for them. Arthur senses his displeasure and leans in for a kiss, ending it far too soon for the Norwegian's liking.

"We can chat later. I've learnt some more things about the Goblin Rebellion of 1612 that could be useful for our N.E.W.T exam. I'll tell you about it after class."

"Or you could tell me about it _during_ class," Eirik puts away his unfinished drawing back into a folder.

He's thinking of finishing this one, then drawing it again on better paper, with better colours, and gifting it to Arthur. He usually keeps his sketches to himself, but Arthur always acts so interested by them. Besides, it's a nice thing to do.

_Sap_ , he thinks to himself.

Maybe he is, a little bit. He knows many people much worse than him, at least, so his thoughts can shut up and mind their own business. He doesn't give Arthur crowns made of flowers like _some_ good friends of his. The day he starts to do that... he shudders. No, he is not a love-ridden fool like some people. Absolutely not. 


	5. Day 5: Myths and Legends (SweNor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5: Sweden x Norway. Berwald doesn't dislike Eirik's ideas, he just wonders whether they'll make it out alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not particularly happy with how this one came out... Tomorrow, I'll try to post the last two prompts, so that I don't post them too many days after the Rare Pair Week is over. 
> 
> New name:  
> \- Søren Køhler: Denmark  
> \- Berwald Oxenstierna: Sweden

Berwald is always cautious around Eirik and his "ideas". The fifth year doesn't propose his plans very often, and every time he does, they almost certainly result in the group of four almost getting expelled. So when the Norwegian saunters into the common room one day with a heavy book in his arms and a mischievous spark in his eyes, Berwald braces himself for another close call.

"There's a bäckahäst in the lake."

The word is foreign to him, although it sounds Swedish. Knowing Eirik, it most likely refers to a man-eating beast that for some reason, will grow strangely attached to the risk-taker and almost kill the other three.

"A what?" Søren stares.

Eirik opens his book, pointing at an illustration of a white horse with a scared-looking boy on its back.

"A bäckahäst, or bækhest, is a horse, usually said to be of the purest white, who appears to people on foggy nights and tricks them into climbing onto its back. Once on its back, the rider will be unable to escape and the bäckahäst will return to its aquatic home and drown the fool who rode it."

Søren backs out of the plan to look for the terrifying beast with a sullen explanation that he's already been given detention by two professors, being caught out of his dorm at night would do him more harm than good. Timo refuses to go along with the plan too, murmuring a false excuse, winking at Berwald as he does so.  
  
And Berwald, who would have refused because he prefers living to dying, reluctantly agrees to accompany Eirik on his quest to find the demonic horse, because he can't leave his friend to do it by himself.

They wait for the next foggy night, which fortunately turns out to be a Saturday, and sneak out of the majestic castle to the lake, a vast expense of water nestled at the foot of one of the mountains that surround Durmstrang, hidden from sight by thick conifers. Darkness has settled across the land, making it difficult to make out where the ground ends and where the lake begins.

Both teens are wrapped in warm cloaks, and Eirik holds a ball of light that radiates warmth in his left hand, clutching at his wand in his right. He sits down at the edge of the lake, setting the ball down on the grass in front of him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He's fiddling with his camera, an expensive new model inspired by modern Muggle ones gifted to him by his parents for his fourteenth birthday.

Berwald glances back at the castle, thinking briefly of the warm bed that awaits him, and sighs heavily, settling himself down next to his friend. It could be worse. Only last year, Eirik had decided to go looking for mountain trolls, which had resulted in the four boys getting hopelessly lost and ending up walking so far, Berwald thought his legs might fall off. The year before that, nøkken had captured the Norwegian's attention, although he had failed to warn his friends of exactly what they were, and they had almost lost Søren to the creature's song.

With this being said, Berwald doesn't hate following Eirik's whims as much as he claims to. Eirik does try to keep everyone safe, most of the time, and the Swede cherishes any moment spent alone with him. His crush on his classmate has done nothing but grow over the course of the past year, until Berwald longs to touch Eirik, to hold him, to stay with him and to say with confidence that they love each other. Timo knows, naturally, has made it his mission to get the two alone together so Berwald can confess, to no avail. He may feel confident around Eirik, he still can't muster the courage to tell him how he feels, so scared of rejection that he keeps his feelings to himself.

"Remember, whatever you do, don't interact with it. I've heard that even touching its fur is enough to trap you," Eirik adds sternly.

"Why are we doin' this again?"

Eirik doesn't answer, but Berwald can see a flicker of a smile light up his face and his doubts fade away.

They sit and wait for hours in the cold, damp weather. Neither are chatty people, the silence that fills the air is by no means awkward. Berwald sneaks glances at his companion from time to time, disappointed the light doesn't enable him to properly admire his beautiful face.

"Have you thought about who you'll ask to the Winter Ball?" Eirik asks when the lights that shine through Durmstrang's windows go out.

Most fifth years anticipate the Winter Ball, a fun event open to fifth years and older students, with a buffet, ballroom dancing and, at the end of the night, a concert featuring whichever artist is popular at the moment. Berwald has been dreading it, on account of fearing Eirik would be asked to dance by someone else. He should ask him himself, but he doesn't dare.

"Was thinkin' of goin' by myself," he lies.

"Oh."

And Eirik is silent, casting his gaze back to the lake. Even though Berwald has known him for five years now, his face remains indecipherable. He's grown better at understanding his body language, the tone he uses when he speaks, the meaning behind his words, but never his facial expressions, for Eirik shows almost none.

Before he can say anything else, the surface of the lake ripples with movement, and not even five minutes later, a creature has emerged from the water's depths. Berwald stares in wonder. The bäckahäst is even more beautiful than Eirik's book described, with fur so white it shines. It isn't overly big, he would qualify it as pretty rather than beautiful now he can see it better, and it walks over to Eirik, ignoring the Swede.

"Hey there, good to see you again," Eirik murmurs, holding out his hand for the animal to sniff.

"You know it?" Berwald snaps his head to Eirik.

"We've met," Eirik doesn't tear his gaze away from the stallion, "my warnings still stand. He's used to me, we made a deal, but he won't hesitate to hurt you."

Berwald takes a few steps back, but keeps his eyes on the animal, who Eirik photographs and feeds sugar cubes to. He wonders how his classmate met the bäckahäst, how he somehow managed to trick it into not drowning him. It doesn't surprise him, but it intrigues him.

The bäckahäst eventually trots off into the forest, most likely looking for someone else to prey on, leaving the teenagers together. Eirik's eyes glow with happiness, and he joins Berwald, shoulder brushing again the taller teen.

"Thank you for coming. I met it a few months ago, and promised it that I would return three months later with a reason for it not to drown me. Not the best idea I've ever had," he shrugs.

"A reason?" Berwald echoes.

Eirik hums, refusing to explain any further. He stares at the lake for a while longer, before turning to face him. A sly smile rests upon his face, eyes sparkling with that oh so familiar mischief Berwald has seen in him so many times.

"If you change your mind, about going to the ball that is, I'm still looking for someone."

And with a brush of his hands against Berwald's, he tredges back to the castle. He doesn't get that far, Berwald rushing to overtake him and say, rather awkwardly, stumbling on his words, what he's been keeping to himself for the past year.

"Go out with me?" he hopes it sounds like the question it was meant to be.

The feeling of soft lips against his own answers his question better than any words ever could.


	6. Day 6: Flowers (RomNor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 6: Romania x Norway. When Vasile shows up at Eirik's door, a bouquet of flowers in hand, Eirik knows the flowers aren't meant to be a display of affection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short angsty RomNor set during the Second Wizarding War because for some reason, I struggle to write happy RomNor. 
> 
> Just would like to point out that the of consent in the UK is sixteen.
> 
> Norway's a Ravenclaw and Romania's a Slytherin in this one.

When Vasile knocks at Eirik's door carrying a bouquet of flowers, Eirik knows it isn't a show of affection. The small house is empty, the Norwegian's family having flown to Iceland a few weeks ago, the windows boarded up and booby traps set in every corner of the house.

"No one followed you?" Eirik checks.

Vasile shakes his head. The door is locked behind them; clunky Muggle paddocks, chains, a multitude of spells keep anyone from breaking in. There are no lights lit, only a few candles in the living room, which Eirik has turned into his living quarters. A camping gas bottle lies by the window, surrounded by a washing-up bowl, some plates and cutlery, and some cans of food. A sleeping bag is spread out on the floor, a packed rucksack on the floor beside it.

He sits down on the sleeping bag, watches silently as his boyfriend sets the flowers down, arranging them in an orderly manner in a semi-circle. A daffodil, some white heather, a daisy, a blue iris and a crimson rose. The colours clash, but this meagre bouquet is not meant to be admired.

It's silly, risking their lives to perform this stupid ritual. Snatchers could try and break the locks any moment now, grab them and take them to the Ministry, where they would face an unfair trial and be left to rot in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Death Eaters could find them and kill them. They could be interrogated, forced to tell the monsters who have taken over their country where their friends are hiding. They're risking everything to make a wish, one that probably won't even work.

"You're ready to go once we've done this?" Vasile breaks the silence.

"Just need to roll up my sleeping bag. Are we taking the gas bottle or not?"

"We're taking it, if you can carry it. We're not lighting any fires, too risky."

Eirik's heart skips a beat as he realises that this is it. Six years at Hogwarts, only to fear for their lives if they return for their seventh year, solely because of their blood status. It's unfair. More importantly, it terrifies the Ravenclaw.

They could have left the country like Eirik's parents, but they've chosen to stay. As the foolish teenagers they are, they won't let this injustice go without a fight. They, like many muggleborns, wizardborns and students with both a wizard and a Muggle for parents will spend the next year sabotaging Voldemort and his supporters, helping rescue children and teens from snatchers, risking their lives to rid Great Britain of the threat that looms over them.

But first, they need to cast a simple spell. Vasile found it in an old book in the restricted section of the library, a charm that was commonplace during the first wizarding war.

"Remember what every flower is for?" the Slytherin asks.

"The rose for mourning, daisy for innocence, iris for hope, heather for protection and daffodil for rebirth," he recites.

Vasile nods and sits down, tugging on Eirik's sleeve so he can sit next to him, in the small space meant for them, enabling the semi-circle to become a circle. The young men hold hands, squeezing them slightly for courage, and with their spare hand, hold their wands out.

"Ready? On the count of three... one... two... three!"

They wave their wands and cast the spell, their voices clear and strong. Blue fire swallows each flower, the heat not hot enough to burn but warm enough to soothe. The flowers are consumed entirely, each petal burning away making Eirik's skin tingle. Finally, the flowers are nothing more than ash, and the fire fades away into nothingness. A newfound warmth spreads through Eirik's being, akin to the feeling of his mother's arms when he had nightmares as a child, or his boyfriend's bare skin against his own on those cherished nights they make love.

"Ready to go?" Vasile stands up.

"Five minutes."

What a waste of beautiful flowers. Eirik is seventeen, Vasile sixteen. They should be gifting each other flowers at this age, red roses and white carnations. They shouldn't be burning them in the futile hope the action will grant them protection. They should be worrying about whether they'll last because they're young and inexperienced, not because they're scared the other will be murdered in cold blood before they experience all life has to offer.

A menacing crack echoes in the living room as someone activates a trip wire in the garden. Vasile squeaks and Eirik pulls his rucksack onto his back, trying to hide his own fear.

"Let's get out of here," he murmurs, reaching for Vasile's hand.

They apparate somewhere in the northern countryside just as the door is broken down.

Even after trudging through the mud for miles, twisting left and right, using every trick in the book to avoid being traced, their hands remain intertwined. When they find a place to settle down for the night, they share a sleeping bag, for there is no greater comfort when the world you know is falling apart than lying in the arms of the one you love.

And Eirik vows than when the war is over, he'll assemble a bouquet that will put every bouquet ever made to shame, one he'll gift to Vasile, one they can put in a vase and admire for weeks and weeks, one that won't die as quickly as the others.

"Love you, Eirik," Vasile mumbles before shutting his eyes, snuggling into the warmth his boyfriend provides.

"Love you too, Vas."

Life is unfair. Much too unfair. But still they live, for there really is no other option, is there?


	7. Day 7: Nostalgia (NedNor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Nostalgia. Netherlands x Norway. A summer stroll brings back fond memories for two young men in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, last prompt! And only a day late! I hope you enjoyed this collection of short stories, and a big thank you to those who left kudos!

Jan waits on the platform, alone in a sea of parents. Trolleys roll on people's feet, followed by a hasty apology or two, as people push them over near the yellow lines, ready to collect students' heavy luggage when the train finally appears. Jan has opted not to take one - Eirik always packs lightly, and they'll be taking the Floo Network back home anyway.

The chatter increases in volume as the scarlet train comes into view. A whistle pierces through the noise, and not even a few minutes later, students start to file out onto the platform, rushing to meet their welcome committee, soon to be smothered in hugs. Some linger to chat with friends, making last-minute plans to see each other during the holidays. Jan continues to wait, Eirik isn't due for a while.

Once no more students are left on the Hogwarts Express, Eirik finally emerges. He strides over to Jan, a trunk in one hand and cat basket in the other. His travel cloak, a navy blue colour that almost matches his eyes, is ruffled from the long journey, his usually soft hair slightly messy, courtesy of how he must have slept on the train.

Meeting his husband like this always reminds him of Eirik's final year at Hogwarts. Having found a job at Gringotts as an advisor, Jan had requested two days off: one to see the younger man off, the other to welcome him back. Eirik had taken on too many subjects for his N.E.W.T.s, and had returned at the beginning of the summer holidays with dark bags under his eyes and an addiction to coffee that wasn't there before. Despite the exhaustion weighing him down, however, he had stood tall, as stunning and elegant as he had always been.

The odd student calls out a goodbye to the young professor, their obvious appreciation of their Astronomy teacher something Jan doesn't think he'll ever get used to. Eirik wasn't exactly a nobody back in his student days, but he had been far from loved by the student body. Nowadays, it has become common occurrence for owls to fly into their kitchen with questions from his students on their summer homework or queries on careers they wish to pursue. Jan almost misses the old days, when the damn owls didn't leave feathers all over his clean table.

"Slept well?" he teases, taking a hold of Eirik's trunk.

He grunts as he realises the trunk is even heavier than it had been during the Norwegian's seventh year, a feat he hadn't thought possible, full of books by the feel of it, with necessities neatly packed away so as to leave more room for the heavy volumes.

"Well enough. You look well."

They don't talk much on the walk to the fireplaces the Ministry installs for parents picking up or dropping off their children for the school term. They queue in silence, content to simply brush hands as they listen to the conversations around them. Both are private people, preferring to divulge personal information at home, away from curious ears.

The cottage they have called home for the past five years bathes in the sun's light when they arrive. Eirik lets Troll, his cat, out, chuckling as the ball of white fluff curls up on a spot by the window the sun's rays are focusing on. They check up on Jan's rabbit before leaving for their habitual stroll down the shady forest path.

They've walked this path hundreds of times before, know it well enough to spot any changes to the environment, barely pay attention to the ground under the feet. Now they engage in conversation, the singing of birds serving as a pleasant background noise. Eirik talks about his students in more detail than he does in his letters, complains about Professor Slughorn, who he hopes to replace as Head of Slytherin House someday, tells him what's changed at Hogwarts in the past year. His anecdotes bring back fond memories, pranks that got them into trouble, hours spent studying in the library, chaste touches when neither was sure the other liked him back, quiet areas they could sit back and relax together in, undisturbed by their classmates and their whispers.

Many people had whispered when they started dating. Both boys were in Slytherin, the House which, during the time they were students at Hogwarts, valued blood purity and lineage more than any other House. For two boys, who would never be able to produce children together were they to choose to marry, to suddenly start dating, especially when one was muggleborn, had been unacceptable to some, curious to others. The whispers never turned into actions, fortunately, thanks, partly, to Eirik publicly humiliating the unlucky bigot who called the two of them disgusting disgraces, in much ruder terms.

"Remember that time you threw that Gryffindor kid's stuff in the lake?" Jan chuckles.

Eirik looks away in embarrassment. He isn't proud he lost his temper, although he had smiled for days following the event. Jan suspects his proud parents have since reminded him of the behaviour that is expected of the eldest son of a prestigious magical family.

"I should have kept my temper," his husband says, "although he deserved it."

"We all thought it entertaining. Even the Gryffindors were laughing about it for months."

"A shame I messed up. I meant to toss _him_ into the lake."

The two make their way to the large oak tree whose shade has served them well many a picnic. They sit themselves down on one of its great roots, hands intertwined. Jan rubs Eirik's soft hand, brushing the simple gold band around his finger. His husband. The man he loves so much it hurts has sworn to love him until death do they part.

The wedding had been small, not too much hassle. Jan can barely remember who attended, who chose not to attend, can recall only how beautiful Eirik had looked in his dress robes, how right his lips had felt against Jan's, how happy he had felt knowing he was marrying _this_ man, _this_ amazing human being he had fallen for years ago.

"What are you thinking about?" Eirik's lips spread into a small smile.

"How lucky I am to have married you," Jan presses a kiss to his husband's knuckles.

Eirik laughs, a light, musical tune Jan will never grow tired of hearing.

"My students ask me what my husband is like. Should I start telling them you're a helpless romantic next term?"

"You don't mind it. Besides, you can be worse than me at times."

"True," Eirik nods.

He leans against his husband, resting his head against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

"You slept on the train," Jan grunts.

"I did, but I got little rest. If you let me nap now, I'll be more inclined to staying up tonight."

"You best sleep then. We've got a busy night planned."

Eirik hums his agreement, and Jan watches as his breathing slows and his faces relaxes. Just like when they were students, Jan thinks. He would sit with a book in hand, and Eirik would rest his head on a shoulder or his lap, with his then boyfriend's fingers threading through his hair, and like that they would stay, until they were wanted elsewhere.

The Dutch wizard smiles, presses a kiss against his husband's forehead, then closes his own eyes, basking in the memories a pleasant summer afternoon can bring.

 


End file.
